


august slipped away like a moment in time

by sunnysmelons



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnysmelons/pseuds/sunnysmelons
Summary: “She aimed a loaded shotgun at me, Margaery. I don’t think she did that just to be funny.”
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 11
Kudos: 83





	1. august

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I am aware that the imagery/writing may be all over the place. I wrote it on several different occasions and I am too lazy to re-read/re-write it. Forgive me for this. I will do better next time hahaha.
> 
> This is based on the song august by Taylor Swift.  
> I hope you like it.

It goes without saying that Margaery loved the summer; the colours that came with it, the beaches, the tan lines, and the fruit pops that would drip to make her fingers sticky with sweetness.

So weeks even before school had ended, Margaery had already figured out her summer itinerary: getting watermelon flavoured pop at the vendor stationed at the beach, sprawling at a towel on the sand, swimming—repeat, not necessarily in that order.

But plans can sometimes go awry. Especially when there is a tall redhead—clearly not built for the heat—pushing a skateboard on the sidewalk whilst failing in her attempt to shield her pale complexion from the sun; Margaery actually winced at the thought of the sunburn that the redhead will probably experience soon after. Poor thing was also sweating profusely; she might get dehydrated even before she could reach her destination and it would be all Margaery’s fault. 

With that in mind—and not the fact that it was the same tall redhead in her homeroom that Margaery had been pining for for the last few years—Margaery decided to forgo her trip to the beach, pulled over and half-yelled, “Sansa, get in the car” even before she could fully roll down the passenger window. Sansa Stark’s eyes gleamed for a split second at the sight of her, and Margaery swore it was only half wishful thinking.

Sansa gnawed at her bottom lip as if she was contemplating whether to take the offer or not, so Margaery flashed her a reassuring smile, “You look like a melting snowman, c’mon, I’ll drive you.”

“I’m just heading home though.”

“Then I’ll drive you home.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“I’d do a lot of things to you.”

Sansa cocked her head, a tentative smile playing on her lips, “For me?”

Margaery, without a hint of remorse, leaned over and pushed the passenger door open for the taller girl, “Yes. That, too.”

Sansa laughed as she settled on the passenger seat, skateboard thrown in the back.

“So where’s home?”

“Second to the right, and straight on ‘till morning.”

And there goes Margaery’s summer plans.

The colours that came with Margaery’s summer—used to be orange, yellow, and green—became shades of red: the auburn in Sansa’s hair when she was supposed to drive the taller girl home but found herself at her own bedroom floor; smeared lipsticks blending together; pink marks where Sansa’s lips left her chest up to her neck;

The moment Margaery felt warm hands start up her skirt, she gently pushed the taller girl away, “W-wait, Sansa, are you sure?”

Sansa leaned her forehead on Margaery’s and spoke, “Never have I ever before”

"What? That doesn't make much sense."

"Its a yes! Gods."

Margaery revelled in those shades of red: Sansa’s panties underneath her Levi’s, she would have thought it would clash with the red of Sansa’s locks but it didn’t; the wine that they stole from her grandmother’s cellar—knocked over on her wooden bedroom floor when Sansa lifted her up to fuck her against the dresser; the scarlet of Olenna’s face when she cocked her shotgun at a terrified Sansa for ‘defiling her grand daughter under her own roof’.

Just as Margaery was getting into terms that she will never get a taste of fruit pop that summer, Sansa called her to meet behind the mall. The redhead had the teal coloured shirt she wore for the place she worked at when she slipped in the passenger seat of Margaery’s 2019 Beetle.

The taller girl handed Margaery a popsicle, “Summer special from the yogurt shop, I get one for free every shift.”

“Oh, does the complimentary fruit pop extend to friends and family?” Margaery unwrapped the cold dessert, revealing it was lemon flavoured—not her favourite, but it was appreciated nonetheless. Given that Margaery parked at a secluded part, further from the back exit—as per Sansa’s request—the popsicle was starting to melt into the wooden stick which meant that it had to be finished as soon as possible.

Sansa chuckled, “Just for the mother”

“The mother?” The shorter girl raised a brow, biting into the popsicle in a way that made the redhead wince.

“Yes, for the mother of my children. Interested?”

Margaery choked while Sansa laughed.

“A small payback for having me climb down your window.” The redhead wiped the juices that spilt from Margaery’s lips with her thumb.

“I didn't ask you to climb out the window, I told you to use the back door!”

“Your grandmother was tending to her garden!”

“She’s not going to murder you, Sansa.”

“She aimed a loaded shotgun at me last week, Margaery. I don’t think she did that just to be funny.”

The shorter fought a smile to form at the memory and opted to roll her eyes, “Did you only call me here to give me free dessert?”

“You don’t like it?” Sansa feigned hurt, which Margaery easily caught on. Sansa Stark surely did not underestimate Margaery Tyrell to attempt to tease her twice in a row, “Are you insinuating we do something else?”

Thrice in a row. Apparently Margery was as easy to be the teasee as she is the teaser, if only someone else had tried before.

Margaery Tyrell came at the backseat of her Beetle; just as she came into terms that it will be the only fruit pop she will have that summer. Her fingers became sticky that day, from the fruit pop and from Sansa, both dripped to her fingers. Almost at the same time. No complaints.  


That summer, the only oceans Margaery swam in are the blue orbs on Sansa’s eyes.There was a gleam of adventure in it when she knocked at Margaery’s doorstep with a hood over her head, asking to stay the night.

They locked themselves in Margaery’s bedroom, the only other person aware with the redhead’s presence in their household was Margaery’s twin brother, Loras. Only because his room was adjacent to hers and Margaery was not very discreet when she was pressed against the wall.

Sansa traced her fingers on the spine’s of the books of Margaery’s shelf which mostly contained the fairytales she read as a kid—because, well, there are ebooks now which are more economic and environmentally conscious.

Margaery ended up reciting the story of Peter Pan while Sansa lapped at her body until morning. She woke to Sansa’s ocean blues, and she felt like she was already underwater. Their figures twisted in her bedsheets, legs knoted together, an empty bottle of cheap wine on the floor.

“M’rning” Sansa lazily drawled, not making an attempt to move from her position where half her body was on top of Margaery’s.

The brunette wrapped an arm around the taller girl, pulling her closer—not close enough, but for Margaery, it will suffice. It was enough, this was enough. It has to be.

Sansa swiftly pulled away, panic evident in her eyes “What time is it?” she clambered through the bedside table for her phone and untangled herself from the makeshift nest that is Margaery’s bed, “I need to call Joff”

Margaery watched Sansa pressed her phone to her ear, every hushed word Sansa spoke stirred tiny whirlpools in the brunette’s stomach. A not-so gentle reminder that whatever they have is not something Margaery could keep. Not something she could call hers.

It took only a couple of minutes, whispers, and Sansa was back in her arms; placing kisses on Margaery’s shoulder “Margaery, what do we do for food?”

“Depends on how fast you can sneak out of my room and knock at the front door as if you had just got here.” 

The younger girl chuckled, “Good thing we reread Peter Pan, now I know that I all I have to do is think lovely, wonderful thoughts to lift me up the air and out your front door.”

“I can help you make those… lovely… wonderful thoughts.”

The ocean in Sansa’s eyes thinned into lines that encircled black pupils, she cupped the brunette’s face and crashed into her.

"We are still getting food, right?"

"Yes, Sansa."

And before Margaery even knew it, she was pinned on her mattress, completely submerged in the ocean of Sansa’s eyes. Gasping as wave after wave engulfed her. Yes, this can be enough for Margaery.

The brunette let out a hiss as she swatted another mosquito away from her arm, so much for applying insect repellent. If there was one thing Margaery hated about summer was all the bugs sinking their—teeth? proboscis? on her skin.

“Hey kid”

She felt something blunt but hard against the small of her back; the streetlight they stood under provided Margaery a view of her assailant’s shadow. Tall and lean and holding something flat with a rounded edge. If she knew any better she would have grabbed the mace from the pocket of her sweatshirt and ran, but unfortunately Margaery Tyrell did not know any better so she turned on her heels with a playful grin on her lips, “Is that your skateboard or are you just happy to see me?”

“Funny”

“You know, you can’t call me kid. We’re in the same grade. Plus, I am older than you.” Sansa furrowed her brows in confusion, and Margaery had to stifle a laugh, “By a couple of months, but.. still older than you.”

“You know my birthday?”

“I know a lot of things, Sansa Stark.”

“Stalker”

“Says the person who snuck behind me in the darkness.”

The redhead chuckled, “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Asking me to go to meet you outside is surprising enough. It’s a bit early for us, don’t you think?”

“Seems perfectly fine. What did you tell Loras?”

“I told him I’m going out for a run, but he knows.” Sansa flashed her a smile before gesturing for her to follow, Margaery matched her steps with the taller girl, straining a bit with the height difference, “Where are we going?”

“Getting pixie dust.”

That had made the brunette stop on her tracks. She can and may do a lot of things for—like? love? Sansa? Sansa. She can and may do a lot of things for Sansa but she will not do that.

“Sansa, I have a lot faith and trust—that’s enough for someone petite like me to fly. I’m not doing drugs with you. I mean I’m not completely opposed—but we have to talk about it first.”

The redhead turned to her, looking lost, “What? No! I just thought we could hang out and drink. Stole this from my dad, but I don't think he'd mind.” Sansa fished out a silver flask from the back pocket of her jeans.

Margaery let out a relieved sigh, “Next time if you wanted to inappropriately drink in public, just say so.”

“I thought we were doing Peter Pan euphemisms. We’re getting so good at it.”

“I know. But this one flew out of the window, Sans.” Margaery half ran towards Sansa, closing the distance that her pause had made.

They ended up in an empty parking lot; Margaery sitting on a bench, flushed, drinking from the flask and Sansa in front of her practicing a trick with her skateboard. Margaery did not even try to ask or name what the redhead was trying to do and just enjoyed what little the yellow streetlight let her see through the darkness, she could make out beads of sweat on Sansa’s collar bones glistening, though.

Golden eyes took in Sansa’s figure, as if she was in slow motion. Maybe Sansa really was in slow motion—maybe the world slowed for this moment in time.

She enjoyed it until Sansa fell on her butt with a short yelp. Margaery was quick on her feet but so was Sansa who immediately stood up before Margaery could and walked the pain away towards the brunette, laughing.

Suddenly it hit her. Reality finally sinking in.

“Say, Sansa”

The redhead plopped beside her grabbing the flask on Margaery’s hand and taking a swig before raising her brows, Margaery took it as an invitation to continue.

“When spring comes—when Joffrey comes back from vacation with his family,” Margaery wore a solemn look on her face, for the first time in her life, feeling unsure “What’ll happen to us?”

Sansa did not move but her eyes met Margaery’s. And sure enough, Margaery was once again drowning in ocean blue. The look on Sansa’s face was unreadable when she took the shorter girl’s hand in hers, squeezing softly in reassurance. It was enough. It was supposed to be enough. But it wasn’t.

By the end of summer, the air was starting to cool and the sun had become less harsh—enough for Sansa to actually enjoy basking in it.

This was the most public setting they allowed themselves to be on since their whole ordeal; a slightly crowded beach. The brunette sat on the sand, while Sansa laid faced down and used her lap as a pillow, letting Margaery trace the freckles on her bare back.

Margaery bit her lip, holding back the urge to write her name on pale skin. To mark it. To claim as hers. But she couldn’t. Because no matter how it felt, how that summer went, Sansa Stark was never Margaery Tyrell’s.


	2. betty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Sansa thanks Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, bearer of the fireball whiskey.

Sansa planned this for weeks now. Since Margaery and Loras Tyrell announced that they are going to throw a graduation party, her mind started planning from the shirt she was going to wear to the speech she will say. Finally, finally, she was going to tell Margaery Tyrell how she felt.

But now that she’s actually on her front porch, Sansa didn’t know what to do.

Alternative music spilled from the crack on the door that was left slightly ajar. Given the reputation of the Tyrell twins, and the amount of cars parked outside, all of senior class may be in attendance. The red head took a deep breath, hoping when she expelled it, it would become easier for her to take the first step.

“Well, come on now” Arya’s annoyed voice came from beside her, “I’m not spending the night here to feed the mosquitoes.”

Sansa let out an exasperated sigh at her younger sister, “Just let me get my footing.”

To get her footing. A year ago she did not even have to take a moment in order to step into the porch; she just did. Most times she did not even have to knock, Margaery always threw her a key from her bedroom window in order to get in if it’s way too late in the night.

“Footing my ass.” Arya grumbled, kicking a pebble to the side.

“What are you even doing here? This party is for seniors.”

“Gendry invited me.”

“This isn’t Gendry’s party, you know.”

The shorthaired girl let out an angry huff, “Whatever. I’m going inside.” There was no reluctance in Arya’s stride as she stepped forward, sending panic towards Sansa, “Wait Arya!”

“What? C’mon.” Her younger sister urged Sansa on, finally making her take that dreaded first step.

Sansa almost tripped on that uneven step again, the same one that made her lose her footing while she ran away from a shotgun wielding Olenna after getting caught ‘defiling’ her precious grand daughter, not a very good first impression, Sansa knows. Also, if there was any defiling being done, it was well—it depended on who was telling the story.

Arya let Sansa inside, pushing the door open to the horde of their senior class in the Tyrell living room. Sansa could clearly make out Joffrey’s voice when he half whispered, “Gods, I can’t believe she came.”

The redhead rolled her eyes, she could say the same for him, but doing so would likely hinder her purpose—so instead, she bit the insides of her cheeks and waited for those who heard his comment to turn towards her, with judging stares and murmurs in support of Joffrey. But no one even spared her a second glance—not even a first and to be honest, Sansa is a tad bit offended. Most of their classmates were either too drunk or too busy with their own goodbyes or whatever it is they’re doing.

“I’m going to find Gendry, will you be okay?”

Sansa turned to her sister whose bored expression indicated that no matter what Sansa’s response is, she will still go and find her boyfriend.

“I’ll be fine, go.”

The moment Arya disappeared into the crowd, Sansa felt a hand on her shoulder and a red solo cup filled with something that smelled of cough syrup and vaguely of hickory was being placed in her hand, “Sansa!”

The hand belonged to Renly Baratheon, their class president followed by Brienne Tarth holding a camera pointed right at her. Sansa must have looked nothing short of mortified, because Brienne—being ever so considerate—covered her camera with her hand and explained “We’re videotaping the party—for the reunion.”

Reunion that would probably be in ten years time, the least, and by then a quarter of them would be ‘too busy’ to attend and the video would most likely be obsolete.

“Sorry, do you want us to comeback to you?” Renly turned to her, Sansa cannot tell if the concerned expression on his face was genuine or not.

“Ren, maybe we should just get back to Sansa, looks like she’s not yet into it.” Brienne sent Sansa an apologetic look, before dragging Renly away from her, but not without protests.

Sansa took another whiff to the liquor on the cup, definitely hickory, contemplating if it was safe to drink. Whether this concoction would make her sick or drunk, probably both. Probably would not hurt to get sick or drunk either, its a senior high school party—its supposed to end one way or another.

“Don’t do it.” Daenerys Targaryen grabbed the cup from Sansa’s hand and handed it to someone Sansa did not recognise—Dany most likely didn’t know the person either, “It’s poison, fucking horrid.”

Sansa chuckled more so from relief than anything, maybe she does not have to stand awkwardly at a corner while not-so-discreetly keeping a look out for Margaery Tyrell.

“Come on,” Dany took Sansa’s arm, pulling her into a group of people she recognised shared homeroom with her and Margaery—at least, before Margaery managed to remove herself from the classes they shared together. And Sansa ended up spending the rest of high school, only getting to see Margaery on the opposite side of the lunch hall. That is, if Sansa was lucky enough to catch sign of Margaery amidst her gaggle of girl friends.

“Now, this is the good stuff.” Dany handed Sansa an empty cup, before filling it with what looked like whiskey.

It was not as smooth as Sansa thought it would be, given that Dany called it ‘the good stuff’, it was sweet, fiery, and burned like hell at the back of her throat making Sansa choke, “What the hell was that?”

Dany looked genuinely puzzled at Sansa’s reaction, “Fireball”

Of course it had to be fireball whiskey.

“It's good!” The silver haired girl pressed on, while Sansa scanned the group who sad smiles, shaking their heads at Dany—probably had the same reaction as Sansa did, “Come on guys, it's not that bad.”

“It’s that bad, Dany.” Sansa returned the cup to Dany, “I’m sorry.”

Dany pouted looking at the cup Sansa handed her, its contents almost still intact, “at least Margaery liked it.”

The redhead’s found herself perking at the mention of Margaery, grabbing the cup from Dany once again, why did she not lead with that. Dany should have known by now that when it comes to Sansa—well at least since senior year started—always lead with Margaery.

“You talked to Margaery?”

“Yeah, she had a couple of drinks with us.”

Sansa found Dany’s eyes trailing to the cup on her hand as if she was waiting for Sansa to complete the deed. And so, being the good friend she is, Sansa downed the contents, feeling her stomach reject it as soon as it met with the liquor—she just hopes it’s not as bad going in as it will be going out, in which ever way it’ll be.

“Well, where is she?”

Dany was about to fill Sansa’s cup once again but she placed a hand to cover it, one was enough—should be enough to get information out of her friend.

“Can't remember.” Dany shrugged, feigning disinterest while her eyes were still on Sansa’s cup. Clearly, one was not enough.

“Are you serious?” Sansa rolled her eyes, before letting Dany fill her cup once again, she knows that Dany is merely making a point, hoping that the liquor will grow on Sansa if she tried it enough times, that or she just wants someone to help finish the—Dany would never admit—godawful whiskey she brought.

“Maybe she is…” Dany trailed off, and Sansa groaned, drinking the contents and offering her cup once again—already regretting it when she caught a whiff of cinnamon when Dany poured the liquor for the third time.

“She’s?”

This time, Dany had a hand placed under Sansa’s cup, basically forcing her to drink up, “You know deliberately getting a girl drunk is frowned upon, Dany.”

“But stalking a girl who has been actively avoiding you is illegal. So it is best not dwell on it, Sansa.”

Dany was not wrong. Margaery has avoided her since spring. She has, too. But that was just because she knew Margaery needed the space, unlike Margaery who probably hated her guts and will likely tell her to fuck herself. 

And so, Sansa drank the liquor, feeling goosebumps—the bad kind, the one she would often get just when she was about to get sick—as it slid down her throat.

“So?”

“Well, she was here a while ago but…” Dany poured another on her cup, this time Sansa did not even fight it, gods maybe the liquor was growing on her. Sansa downed it was fast as her body would allow it, “then Loras asked her to help him tap a keg because he doesn't know how”

“Margaery doesn’t know how to tap a keg either” Another cup.

Sansa learned a great deal about Margaery during August, and one of them was Margaery does not now how to tap a keg, she hates beer—preferred sweet wine above anything else, so unless Margaery developed a taste for it—

“That is what she said.”

The whiskey was already half empty by this time and Sansa doesn’t even know how many she has had, but she keeps on downing, just to keep Dany talking.

“Good thing Renly was quick to help.”

“Renly?”

“Yeah, you know he and Loras would make a very cute couple. And I think Loras would be interested… seeing how he was blushing and all”

“I don’t think Renly’s gay.”

“Oh, he is. Now, I am not stereotyping—but that pomade game and that beard.”

“He did go out with Margaery freshman year, Dany.”

“Exactly. That beard.”

“Just tell me where Margaery is” Sansa’s tongue burned of cinnamon, and she thinks she slurred out the last syllable.

Dany finally sent Sansa a shit-eating grin, looking overly satisfied, “Margaery is in the kitchen, last I checked.”

“Thank you.”

Sansa took her time walking towards the kitchen, it was not that she was drunk. She was tipsy the most. The whiskey tasted bad and it burned, but it did not have much alcohol it in. She also knew where the kitchen was, unless the Tyrells suddenly decided to renovate and change their house—they didn’t. What made it difficult for Sansa was the crowd, she had to squeeze through bodies, witness a whole lot of graduation-goggle or beer-goggle induced making out sessions, and bursh off Harry Hardyng’s advances twice.

When she did finally get to her destination, Margaery was not there. Instead, it was her school posse, the girls Margaery surrounded herself; all brown haired and golden eyed just like Margaery. They were silent and staring at her as if she was the strangest thing.

“H-hi, I’m looking for Margaery.”

“She’s not here.” One of the girls, Elinor, Sansa thinks—honestly, if they were together like this, she cannot tell them apart. That is, aside from Margaery, of course.

Sansa can see that, she wanted to blurt out but she decides to bite her cheek.

“She’s in the fancy room with Joffrey Baratheon.” Another blurted out, the shortest one. Sansa does not event ry to recall her name. Whoever she was, was quickly shushed by the other girls.

The fancy room—Olenna’s unofficial study—where guests of the party were not allowed—so it was possibly just Margaery with Joffrey with his grubby hands. Her chest tightened like it did when something reminded her of Margaery, the Tyrell house, the parking lot, sweet red wine, Peter Pan.

“Are you okay? You look rather pale.” Sansa did not even bother to look up to acknowledge whoever spoke, the redhead just hissed out a thank you before walking away.

Okay, maybe that was it for Sansa. She should just be on her way and forget about everything she thought she would be doing at this party. Maybe she deserved it anyway, to live with regret for the rest of her life. A lot of people have done that and lived a long life.

It will not be a happy life, but it will be a long life filled with the regret and eating her heart out. She might even be able to attend their reunion and watch herself in Renly and Brienne’s film.

“Why did you have to tell her that, Allah.”

“You know she’s Joffrey’s crazy ex.”

“Poor thing, she must have been so devastated.”

And suddenly, Sansa was brought back to senior prom. Where it all went wrong or right.

That night didn’t start that way though, that night started great. She was wearing a dark grey chiffon gown, Joffrey picked her up from her house, looking dapper in his burgundy tuxedo. They did not fight the whole way there, Joffrey showed her off to his friends without deprecation, some may consider that the bare minimum, Sansa considers that great.

Eventually, the crowd became too overwhelming for Sansa that she decided to just remain on the bleachers while Joffrey socialised. But her eyes found Margaery, and they kept finding Margaery the whole night.

Margaery Tyrell wore a nude gown adored in green floral sequins, with a neck line so low that made Sansa wonder how it slipped past the teachers. No complaints on her part though, in fact, every now and again the memory of how the skin on Margaery’s collarbones tasted made Sansa lick her lips—not that she was objectifying Margaery.

Golden eyes met her blue ones and the memories of their summer together came pouring back. She felt so safe and disinhibited despite the fact that she had been threatened with a shotgun, snuck around dark parking lots, climbed out windows.

Sansa’s throat went dry and quickly averted her gaze. She thought she needed to snap out of it, she was straight, in love with her boyfriend, what she and Margaery had was just a summer thing. Something stupid and foolish. And bad. But also, so, so good. And she was sure Margaery thought so, too—but—

Sansa really really really needed to snap out of it. That was when she got roped into the standing guard with another student, Shae, while their literature teacher, Tyrion Lannister spiked the punch. He was so disappointed that no one had tried to spike the punch that he did it himself. It also explained how Margaery got away with her dress.

A familiar melody—a song she knew all too well from that certain summer—echoed through the speakers. What was with all these signs? The song prompted her to scan the gym for Margaery. It didn’t take her much time, but when she did manage to find Margaery, she was in the arms of a nameless senior—too dark for her to see his face—bodies pressed together, too close for Sansa’s liking.

Margaery was laughing, and it looked so unbelievably fake. Sansa knew Margaery’s laughter—she may have been the reason for that laughter for the whole summer. And what Sansa would give for that.

Shit.

Sansa did snap out of it.

Snapped out of denying it.

She could handle being ignored.

Avoided.

Because then she would still be of some importance in Margaery’s life.

But what she could not handle is having someone else with Margaery. Someone else getting the chance to have the opportunities she had with Margaery.

She wanted that summer thing. Wanted it so bad that right after the song, she broke it off with Joffrey. He threw a fit, swore to make Sansa pay for humiliating him, she even thought he would slap her—but instead he stormed away.

Margaery followed suit, not even looking at Sansa. Something that back then, she did not understand, now—maybe, she does.

People—Joffrey—started strange rumours about her after that, that Sansa’s paranoia finally made her go into a jealous rage, that she was crazy, a mad woman; that Sansa was having an affair and projecting it—this one was partly true, not the projection part, well it was… partly. The devil’s in the detail, she figures.

Joffrey—being the bane of her existence—started pursuing Margaery after that. Much to Sansa’s chagrin, but for different reasons that what people may think. He must have either caught whiff of Sansa’s attraction the the brunette or must have suddenly realised how beautiful Margaery Tyrell was. He did not leave the brunette alone, never giving Sansa—or any one else—the chance.

Somewhere in the middle of reminiscing and all the anguish, Sansa found herself in the hallway that led to the fancy room where a portrait of Olenna Tyrell hung—it was a portrait, but Sansa could still feel the judgement in the woman’s eyes, sending shivers down her spine in the worst possible way.

“Well, what do we have here?”

Sansa tensed at the voice, nasally, and cold.

“Snooping around the Tyrell house, are we?” Joffrey walked towards her, leaning close to her so she could feel his breath against the back of her neck “You have guts, I’ll give you that. Showing up here, trying to win over…” he sneered before continuing, “but Margaery’s my girl now, you don’t stand a chance.”

His girl? When did that happen?

She knows her face must have revealed how much it stung. It stung so bad that it’s making her feel sick.

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“N-no, what are you—“

“You know, people hang out at dark parking lots, behind malls. And they talk. I knew the moment I came back—that blonde boy, Olyvar was it? Isn’t very keen on keeping his mouth shut.”

Sansa swiftly turned her head, which she immediately regretted because not only was she dizzy from the alcohol starting to kick in, but she also found herself merely inches from Joffrey’s face—his deep green eyes unblinking. So, that was the reason he chose Margaery.

“That’s disgusting. Disgusting, Sansa.”

Sansa opened her mouth and was about to—about to what? Insult Joffrey? Defend her and Margaery’s honour?—when she felt him being pulled away from her.

“I told you to get out of here, didn’t I?”

It was Loras Tyrell with Renly Baratheon—maybe Dany was right—holding Joffrey by the collar, “Uncle Renly.” No Brienne, surprisingly.

“Gross.” Renly rolled his eyes, “I told you to stop calling me that, we’re in the same grade.”

Loras still held Joffrey’s shirt when his eyes landed on Sansa’s. She could tell he wasn’t particularly happy with her attendance, but he did not say anything and instead asked her if she was alright.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Loras.”

Loras looked as if he wanted to say something but just shook his head, “I don’t think this is a good idea but… she’s inside, if you’re looking for her.” He gestured to the ‘fancy room’ before walking away with a protesting Joffrey in tow.

Renly sent Sansa a sheepish grin before calling after Loras, “My darling, Loras!” Sansa could hear Loras faintly groan, “I love you, but you have to stop calling me that in public!”

Dany was definitely right.

Sansa shook whatever thoughts she had away and opted to do her best to stop her hands from shaking when she pushed the door open. She cannot remember the last time her hands shook from nerves;

Inside was Margaery, on the sofa, facing away from the door and holding a goblet of what Sansa guesses is wine Margaery stole from her grandmother, “Loras, I told you I’m fine, I just—“

“Not Loras.”

Margaery faced her with a surprised expression—almost terrified.

“Sansa.”

Sansa flashed her the closest thing to a smile she could muster, it probably looked more creepy than anything, “H-hey, kid.”

“What are you doing here?” The viciousness in Margaery’s tone, took Sansa aback.

“I just—Loras told me where you were and—“

Sansa was about to open her mouth again when she noticed the tinge of red on Margaery’s cheeks that are definitely not from the wine, the brunette’s eyes were also a tad glassy, as if she had just been crying. It was not hard for Sansa to connect the dots. White hot anger rose throughout her body.

“Did Joffrey do something to you?”

“Nothing. I’m okay. He’s just… apparently a raging homophone.” 

“He knows… about us.”

“Us?” Sansa knew Margaery was not trying to pretend nothing happened, but was genuinely asking if there was an ‘us’ for them. She has questioned it herself several times.

“He doesn’t—he’s just—he’s a prick.”

“He is.” Margaery maintained her glare that made a thick lump form on Sansa’s throat. A lot of things have changed in the past year that she still hasn’t gotten used to: Margaery was no longer in homeroom, she finds herself staring longingly at places Margaery used to frequent, she now has a penchant for wine, Peter Pan is no longer a children’s story, she gets this pangs on her body when she passes by the Tyrell house—but if there was a change that she has started to be accustomed with, it was the sharp daggers from Margaery’s golden brown eyes. She has to have gotten used to it by now, especially since she has been the receiving end of it since spring. “What do you want?”

“Are you sure?”

Margaery’s expression softened for a little bit, measuring Sansa before responding "Never have I ever before.”

If Margaery was joking like this, then maybe she really was okay, so Sansa let out a deep breath that ultimately did not help her at all, because what came out were sputters of words that made no sense, “I just wanted to—look, it wasn’t—I didn’t—with me and Joff, with you and I. Us. It was stupid—I was stupid.”

“It was stupid?” Margaery slammed the goblet into the coffee table in front of her—Sansa was scared stiff but a huge part of her was glad to have had that reaction from Margaery, at least that meant she cared, right? 

“N-no! Not us—I just—I meant what happened between us was.”

“I really really don’t need to hear this, Sansa.” Margaery stood up from her seat and looked like she was walking away, “I steered clear of you for this reason.”

“No! Wait! Hear me out!” Sansa stepped forward, attempting to block the door—very wrong and sort of rapey, but she was afraid she might not get the chance with how the conversation is turning out to be.

Margaery cocked an eyebrow, urging her to continue. Sansa feels a bit of relief that Margaery is willing to listen, but does not let it show, “I just… I miss you, Margaery. It was… it was such a huge and stupid mistake. I never should have—”

“Sans, can we go outside for this conversation?” The brunette let out a solemn sigh, running a hand through her hair with a bored look on her face as if standing there with Sansa was exhausting. Sansa could not blame her, she probably put Margaery through hell, “I feel like my grandmother will haunt me—she’s not dead, don’t worry, she’s having a staycation at the Reach with my parents so we can have the house for ourselves. But she doesn’t have to be dead to haunt me, you know that.”

That seems promising, but Sansa does not relax one bit. It was Margaery after all and things could go either way.

Margaery grabbed a white, oversized cardigan that was draped on the sofa’s armrest and put it on before gesturing for Sansa to follow her, past Margaery’s posse in the kitchen, past Dany in the living room, and towards the back door.

The Tyrell’s backyard was immensely spacious and adjacent to the woods; and Olenna Tyrell made sure to take advantage of it by planting a flower garden that lead a path to the forest, tonight, it had fog seeping through the trees—it looked eerie and beautiful.

“I don’t believe I’ve taken you here.”

Sansa never got the chance to spend much time in their garden, because Olenna frequented it, and Sansa was terrified of Olenna, “Yeah, this… it’s beautiful.” She watched Margaery’s hands graze over what looked like an overgrown rose bush.

“I’m sorry Margaery. What happened between us… It was the worst thing I ever did.”

“What? Cheat on your prick of a boyfriend?”

“N-no, that’s not it.”

“He sucks by the way.”

“Yeah that’s sort of his… thing.” Sansa scratched the back of her head, before realising that she was getting off track, this should not be happening, “No, I meant the worst thing I ever did was… what I did to you.”

Margaery turned to her with a genuinely surprised expression, her doe eyes blinking once, twice, thrice. The cardigan Margaery wore slipped off one of her shoulders in the most delicious way, and damn, Sansa thinks it could be her favourite cardigan—again, not to objectify Margaery—also not the time to be having these thoughts.

“Margaery, with us… I was wrong. It wasn’t just a summer thing. I’m sorry I was so young and so stupid. And I want you so bad. I should have chosen you. I mean—I am choosing you—that is, if you… if you’ll have me… If you’ll want me.”

When Margaery seemed to have recovered however, it looked as if a tentative smile played on her lips, fingers still playing on the roses.

“I know you probably find this—I planned this out for weeks and I thought I have so much more to say. I thought I would forget you when spring came but… I never did.” Sansa’s eyes cast down, preparing herself for the worse. Of course something like this cannot easily be processed, dumping this to Margaery during the night of their graduation and after avoiding each other for a year—well more Margaery than her—it’s a lot.

“He didn’t forget her either.”

“Huh?”

Sansa looked up to see Margaery holding out a yellow rose towards her, her eyes gleaming and she was wearing a toothy grin. 

“Peter. When spring came, he never forgot Wendy, either.”

Sansa’s fingers ghost over the yellow rose, her blue eyes on Margaery’s unshaking golden ones.

“But Peter never came back for Wendy. She waited, and waited.”

“I guess—I wanted to change the ending.” Sansa took a deep breath to calm herself before taking the flower from Margaery; the brunette has managed to remove its thorns already without even Sansa noticing.

“Sansa?”

Margaery literally jumped away from her and Sansa did not even bother to stifle her frustrated groan, of course her sister had to barge in on her almost-might be-moment. She and Margaery turned towards the younger girl and… her rugged and very shirtless companion. 

Sansa turned towards Gendry who was busy dusting the dirt off his jeans and immediately his eyes widened in horror, “It’s not what you think! We were just hiding from Brienne! We didn’t want to get caught on camera… getting high.” He trailed off, come to think of it, the fog that Sansa thought came from the forest did smell a tad bit musky.

“Then why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

Arya shrugged in response, “He spilled fireball whiskey on his shirt and I could stand the smell.”

There was a beat of silence that was broken by Margaery’s hearty laughter “Well, I’m sorry, I guess the garden is occupied by another.” It was the laugh that Sansa craved, beautiful, real, warm, “We should go find somewhere else to talk… I guess.”

Sansa felt Margaery’s fingers intertwine with her free hand, and she was pulled away from the garden.

“I’m sorry about my sister she’s just—she just has bad timing.”

Margaery hummed in response. Sansa liked this better, walking with Margaery around the yard at a pace a bit slower than they had gotten used to last summer. Not to mention that this time she was holding Margaery’s hand—or rather, Margaery was holding hers; but that might just be to keep her from straying due to the crowd.

“It’s all right. We can talk somewhere else.”

Sansa ran her thumb across the back of Margaery’s hand. It felt so warm against hers, it had a type of buzz and that radiated from where she held Sansa throughout the redhead’s arm.

She was so worked up with the sensation, Sansa did not realise that Margaery has led her inside the house where Margaery’s gaggle of friends awaited, their face wore identical looks of burning curiosity—Sansa feels like an exhibit. And it bothered her. What was that about, was she feeling like she had to impress Margaery’s friends? People she cannot even tell apart just minutes ago.

“Margaery?”

They followed them to the kitchen

“What happened between you and Joffrey Baratheon?”

Past the living room

“Why are you with her?”

And finally out the front porch

“Yellow rose? New beginnings? What’s it for?”

Margaery shut the front door behind them, leaving the girls inside. Isolating herself and Sansa from the rest of the party. Almost immediately, there were ‘shushes’ coming from inside the house and everything was silent, even the alternative music that echoed throughout the block stopped.

Now, both of them are well aware that the girls were either peaking through the window or listening in through the cracks of the door. And everyone was in on it.

“I hope you don’t mind, my cousins—friends… are a bit”

Sansa does. But she’s not in any position to negotiate. Her eyes trail down towards the rose on her hand and suddenly—

Yellow roses meant new beginnings.

Oh.

Oh.

That was it.

“New beginnings?”

And with the way Margaery flashed her a sheepish smile, Sansa found her answer. Margaery was holding her hand, giving her a chance that she knew she did not deserve. Fuck, she’s ecstatic that it’s making her feel a little bit nauseous. The good kind. 

Sansa’s eyes instinctively fell on Margaery’s lips, which the brunette instantly caught on—Margaery once again, inched closer, their lips barely brushed when Margery whispered, “After you have been unfair to her, she will love you again, but she will never afterwards be quite the same boy.”

Then she pulled back, evading Sansa’s lips with a chuckle. Sansa’s brows furrowed in confusion and Margaery leaned in again, only to pull back once more. “Did you hear me Sansa?”

“Huh?” Sansa did hear her, heard the quote. It was from Peter Pan, she bit her lower lip in thought for a moment until her mouth fell into a silent ‘oh’ in realisation.

“You have a lot of making up to do, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa placed a hand on Margaery’s jaw, it felt all so familiar as if it wasn’t a year since the last time she had done so. “That’s all I wanna do.”

And with that, Margaery closed the distance. Her lips were soft, warm, and the soft buzz Sansa felt from Margaery’s hand on her’s spread—completely engulfing her.

There are things Sansa wanted to discuss, wanted to ask Margaery. Was it the speech that made her give Sansa the chance? Was it her good looks? Did she miss Sansa as much? Or was this all fait accompli? What are they gonna do when college starts?

But that did not matter at the moment. At the moment, Margaery was melting into her, pressing so close as if she would never be close enough—holding her so tight like she would float away if Margaery loosed it.

Sansa was breathless when they pulled away and Margaery was pulling a face, as if she was about to get sick, “You taste like… cinnamon.”

“I know, I had Dany’s fireball.”

“Delicious” Margaery leaned in again, this time, the kiss was deeper, more ravenous.

Sansa lets out a silent thanks to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, first of her name, bearer of the fireball whiskey.

“Did you get that on camera?” Renly yelled from a distance, and Brienne sent him a thumbs up. “I knew your sister would be the one provide gold content for the reunion, my darling Loras.”

Loras shook his head in disbelief, “Grandmother’s gonna have a cow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated. Thanks so much!

**Author's Note:**

> I planned to base it on 'betty' but, plans can sometimes go awry. I am still working on something based on betty tho and will probably post it in the same collection once I finish it.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome and appreciated.


End file.
